


Five Times Emma Kisses Killian and One Time She Does Something Else

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ensemble Cast, F/M, season 3b speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Killian share a series of romantic moments in the midst of the struggle to defeat the witch. Season 3B speculation with a bunch of making out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't done a five times fic in a long while, so I thought I'd give it a try. I'm halfway through part 4, so I'm hoping to update as often as every other day, but I make no promises. (Later chapters will be much longer.)

Emma pulls an old backpack out of the storage closet and hands it to Henry. "Here, fill this one, too. Take everything you might want for the next month. I have no idea when we might come back."

_If we come back,_ she thinks but doesn't say as Henry nods and dashes back to his room.

Emma meets Hook's eyes for a moment, and she can tell that he understands.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "If there'd been any other way—"

"Don't apologize." She pushes down the pain welling in her chest. "It might have been a happy lie, but it was still a lie. I'd rather have the truth any day. Especially when it brings me back to my family." But it does hurt—god it hurts. This life had been a good one, just like Regina promised, while the reality she's about to face will bring nothing but more of the exhausting and seemingly endless labor that her previous stint in Storybrooke once brought her. Even so, she doesn't regret it. This is her truth, and she'll take it, regardless of the consequences.

She starts pulling her favorite coats and pairs of boots from the closet, putting them in a pile. She won't be able to fit all of them in her car, but she'll have to choose somehow. Her fingers grasp the red leather jacket she wore that day a year ago as she drove away from her family, and she holds it in her hands, staring down at it, all the old memories flooding back as if they'd happened only yesterday.

Blinking back tears, she raises her eyes to see Hook—Killian (both names now mingle interchangeably in her mind)—watching her again. The haunted look in his eyes as he glances down at the jacket is enough to tell her that he remembers their last moments together with as much painful potency as she does.

Not for the first time she wonders what their long year apart has cost him, and what price he paid to find her again. Someday she'll ask him, but not today.

On impulse she closes the few yards between them and rests a palm against his cheek. She sees his eyes widen in surprise for just a moment before she closes her eyes and brushes her lips against his.

They are soft and warm, far warmer than she would have expected on this chilly day, and when he leans ever-so-slightly into the kiss sparks fly down her back, just as they did on that long ago day in Neverland.

Emma pulls away after just a few seconds, before Killian even has a chance to respond. She can't give into the temptation to explore this thing between them right now. Not with Henry in the other room. Not when their task is so urgent.

Hook stares at her in wide-eyed astonishment as she slowly drops her hand, and she swallows hard, trying to contain the confused tangle of emotions that is struggling to get out. "Thank you," she says breathily, "for finding me. For bringing me home."

His Adam's apple bobs and his eyes dart around her apartment. "I thought this was home."

Emma smiles, feeling the full bittersweet weight of Regina's gift on her shoulders. "It was. But not anymore."

He nods. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She sighs. Back to work. No time for any prolonged moments. Maybe there never will be time. "I'll grab a bag. You can help me pack."

She heads to her room for a duffle bag that she has stashed in her closet, and unconsciously raises her fingers to her lips. She can still feel the ghost of their kiss burning there, and she doesn't want it to go away.


	2. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the great responses to part 1. I'm still hoping to update every other day.

Emma needs some air.

After more than two weeks of emotional greetings, panicked town meetings, fighting off flying monkeys and grey-skinned warriors, fielding one bit of bad news after another and sporadic magic lessons with Regina, now they're asking _this_ of her? She's not ready. She's not ready for any of it.

She strides into the woods behind city hall, her breath dancing in the moonlit air. The stars gleam in the sky overhead, and she stares up at them, drawing her coat tighter around her. Once again, everything is happening too fast. There's no time for her take it all in. No time to prepare for the next challenge. No time to rest. Everyone just expects her to dive in headfirst, without looking back.

What if she isn't up to it, this time? What if she fails?

After a few quiet minutes of staring at the sky, trying to quell her rising anxiety, she hears footsteps crunching in the thin crust of snow behind her. She sighs and turns, expecting to see David or Mary Margaret out for another pep talk.

Instead, it's Hook.

He smiles wanly and nods. "Nice night for a stroll."

Emma arches her eyebrows and can't help but smile a little in return.

She should have guessed it was him. He's been a constant in her life since turning up outside her apartment door. He's been by her side for nearly all her challenges and obstacles since returning to Storybrooke, and without him she doubts she'd have been able to bear all the bad news so stoically (like the curse, the witch, and Neal's mysterious disappearance). In spite of the few charged moments they shared in New York he hasn't pushed for anything more than friendship since their return to Storybrooke, and she's grateful for it. Having to sort out her feelings for Hook on top of everything else would have made her already complicated life even more difficult.

But there are moments when she thinks that having someone to hold—someone to touch, to lean on, to cling to—might make all the chaos just a little easier to cope with. She can't think of anyone she'd rather turn to for that comfort than Killian (even if that knowledge makes her more than a little nervous).

"Did they send you to find me?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Not this time. They actually decided we ought to give you some space." He tilts his head and grins wickedly. "Apparently I'm not terribly good at following orders."

Emma lets out a hollow laugh. He always manages to make her laugh, even at the worst of times. 

"I'll leave you in peace, if that's what you truly desire," he says, his face growing more earnest.

"No. I'm glad for the company."

He nods and falls in beside her. They walk in silence for a few minutes, taking in the haunting stillness of the woods on the cold, windless night. Emma breathes in and out slowly, trying to sort out her frustrations by herself before she finds them tumbling out of her mouth. She finds herself confessing to him in a way she never could to anyone else.

"I can barely manage the simplest of spells, you know. Everything big that I've pulled off I did with help—I didn't really know what I was doing. And this—building a permanent bridge between two realms—it's something no one but the witch has ever managed before, and she's not about to share her secrets. Not even Rumplestiltskin could pull this off. So how the hell can they expect me to manage it?" She shakes her head, throwing her arms wide in frustration.

"Regina's aid and guidance is nothing to scoff at—and you've got Rapunzel's beans to open the initial portal." Killian's words are so matter-of-fact they seem almost blasé, and Emma grits her teeth.

"I know that. But I barely understand how my magic works. I have nowhere near the expertise to even make sense of tried and true spells, let alone brand new spells that have never been attempted before. What if I can't pull it off?"

"Emma." He reaches out to rest his hand on her arm, and they stop walking, meeting each others' gaze. "Your abilities are extraordinary, and I've learned by now never to underestimate you. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

Emma furrows her brow as she stares at him, her throat tight. Her words come out barely above a whisper. "Why do you have so much faith in me?"

He takes a small step toward her, closing the distance between them to mere inches. His heart is in his eyes as he answers. "Surely you know the answer to that question by now."

Her own heart races in her chest. She does know the answer. She's known it since the day her memories returned. A part of her desperately wants to hear him say the words out loud, though the rest of her is terrified at the thought.

She holds his gazes for what feels like a small eternity before her instincts take over. Cupping his rough cheeks in her palms, she pulls him in for a kiss.

His lips move slowly against hers, his breath warming her cheeks as his arms wrap around her waist to steady her. He tastes like hot chocolate laced with rum, and his hair is smooth and thick between her fingers when she slides her hand behind his head.

Her chest swells with emotion. It's almost as if she can feel him pouring all his belief and confidence and strength out into her through his kiss. Her anxieties and fears begin to quiet beneath his touch. By the time she finally pulls back to rest her head against his shoulder, still warmed by his embrace, her burdens have not lifted, but she feels more capable of bearing them. More prepared to take on her seemingly impossible task and make it a reality.

"I believe in you," he whispers into her hair. A moment later he adds, "You need to go home and get a good night's sleep, and tomorrow, you'll be ready. You can do this."

"Okay," she whispers back.

He steps back from their embrace and lifts her chin with his hand, smiling as she meets his eyes. "Let's get you home."

She nods and threads her fingers through his as they turn back toward the road. The strength she still feels from him is something she doesn't want to let go of, yet. It only takes them a few minutes to reach her car outside town hall. When she stops the car at Granny's, where he's been staying, he squeezes her hand again and offers a final, encouraging smile. "Now straight home and to bed with you," he says. "I'll see you in the morning. Unless…" He pauses, smirking in the way that always makes her want to smile and roll her eyes at the same time. "…you'd care for some company?" He raises an eyebrow suggestively.

She knows he's joking—trying to lighten her mood. Trying to make her smile. (He _has_ to be joking. Their relationship hasn't changed enough for him to not be joking—has it?) But for a dizzying moment she wants to say yes. To bring him home with her and have her way with him. 

The moment passes quickly and she shakes off the dangerous impulse. Things are already too complicated—she's not ready to take that step, yet.

"In your dreams," she replies.

He offers her a tight-lipped smile in return. "Every night."

Now she really does roll her eyes, and he steps out of the car with another smirk.

When she gets home David and Mary Margaret are waiting for her, worried looks on their faces. She gives them a few simple assurances before heading up to her room.

When she lies in her bed she drifts to sleep with thoughts of Killian's embrace and Killian's belief still swimming in her head, her fingers curling against the empty mattress beside her.


	3. Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Other obligations have slowed me done a little, so part 4 probably won't be up until Monday.

The soldiers around Emma raise their swords and guns in the air, cheering, as the witch's troops beat a hasty retreat and the last of her monkeys fly swiftly away.

She wavers on her feet, blinking in astonishment.

It worked. Their impossible, risky-as-hell plan to route the witch's forces from both Storybrooke and the heart of Snow White's kingdom at the same time has somehow succeeded.

The bridge between worlds still blazes brightly behind her, seemingly as stable as it was when she and Regina conjured it into being less than two hours ago. She walks toward it tentatively, a part of her still convinced that it will close up at any moment, separating her from Henry forever (he's still under Regina's care on the other end, until things are more stable here in the kingdom). The portal sends tingles shooting through her fingers and up her arm, and in her mind she can see the entire bridge all at once, including Regina still standing watchful guard on the other side as more emigrants from Storybrooke cross over to join the contingent in the kingdom. The bridge looks solid—stable—permanent. But what does she really know about any of it?

A feeling of helplessness washes over her, and she suddenly feels as if she may throw up.

"Swan!"

She pulls back from the portal, spinning on her heels and draws a shuddering breath as Killian strides toward her with a grin on his face and a smear of blood still gleaming on the edge of his sword.

Emma draws a sharp breath and wobbles on her feet, her eyes fixed on the blood as it occurs to her for the first time that he could have gotten hurt—or even killed—and she never would have known it. Even though the sight of him very much alive and well should reassure her, she still feels terrified. 

She hasn't seen him since he followed her through the portal, leading a small group of soldiers to secure the sight around her as she worked with Regina to build the bridge from both ends. For most of the past hours Emma has been so completely absorbed in the task of weaving the spell to stabilize the bridge, caught up in the majesty of power and light and magic, that she'd barely been aware of the sound of swords clashing around her and guns firing. She'd only woken up from her stupor just enough to get out of the way when the forces from Storybrooke pushed the witch's troops across the bridge and sent them in full retreat toward her stronghold in the west, where the witch's own bridge to Oz stood under heavy guard.

Killian notices Emma's eyes locked onto his blade, and quickly thrusts it into the ground before closing the distance between them. "You did it! You were amazing. Bloody brilliant. I've never seen anything like it. You are positively remarkable."

His eyes shine like stars in his dirty, battle-weary face.

She manages a weak smile. "So it worked?"

He nods, stepping even closer. "Better than any of us ever imagined. The witch had no idea how powerful you'd prove. She was utterly unprepared."

Emma can scarcely believe the news. She's waiting for a giant "but" to drop into the conversation and pull the rug out from under her. Instead David approaches, the grin on his face matching the one on Killian's.

"He's right," says David. "We pulled it off with minimal casualties, and her forces are in a state of disarray. Now we're back on turf where we have more of an advantage, but still with the full resources of the Storybrooke to draw upon in our defense. It's perfect. You were perfect." He pulls her into a warm hug, placing a familiar kiss on her brow, and Emma draws in another deep breath. 

The reality of their victory is starting to sink in, but she still feels drained and hollow, shaky and confused. She needs a few days of sleep, and a few more after that to get her bearings again.

David seems to sense how weary she is, because he says, "You need some rest. The castle is secure—you should go find a place to lie down. Your mother will be coming soon and she'll have my hide if I don't take proper care of you." He looks over at Killian. "Hook—take Emma to the castle for rest and refreshment. I need to see to the defenses of this portal."

Killian nods and steps forward, finally sheathing his sword. "Aye, lass. You look a little worse for the wear. Let's get you inside."

Emma swallows and nods, falling in beside him. He calls a couple of the soldiers to join them. Though Killian still has no formal standing in the hierarchy, the quick way the men respond to his commands highlights the position of trust he's built with David over the past year—something that still startles her, even though she's had a little over two weeks to get used to it.

Still, she's glad the men trust him so much. He might not still be here if they didn't. She swallows again and looks at her feet as they trudge along the road to the castle. She shouldn't be thinking like that.

He's here. They won. That's all that really matters.

The magical portal-bridge lies at the edge of the woods, just beyond the stone bridge to the castle island, and she heard David calling orders to begin building fortifications and setting up defenses as she walked away. But now, halfway across the bridge to the castle, the sounds of the work are far behind her and all she hears is the crunch of four pairs of boots in the gravel road. She focuses on taking one step at a time, already conscious that her pace is slowing down the three men around her.

"Swan—are you alright?" Killian asks in a hushed tone.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," she says quickly. She won't let them see her weakness—it was only their belief in the power of the Savior that got them all this far. She can't falter now.

He nods, but a new look of concern has entered his eyes.

She stumbles once just before the castle gates, and he reaches out to steady her, but she pulls back. "I'm fine. Really."

At least, she'll be fine. Surely her limbs will feel more real and her head will stop spinning once she gets a chance to sit down.

Killian greets the commander of the guard in the courtyard. "You're certain the castle is clear of the enemy? I won't put the princess at risk."

"Yes, captain," the soldier nods. "We've searched every single room twice over. The castle is completely secure."

Killian nods and gestures for her to follow him to the fountain at the far end of the yard. "Come. Take a drink. I'm sure you're parched."

Emma runs her tongue around her dry mouth, realizing for the first time how right he is. "Yeah. Water. Good."

She wobbles some more as they walk, the courtyard seeming to lurch beneath her feet, but she manages to resist the urge to cling to his arm. She only needs to be strong for a few more minutes. Soon enough she'll be able to rest.

She cups her hand under one of the streams of clean, pure water flowing from the large stone fountain and brings the water to her lips, sipping slowly, as Killian splashes water from the basin on his face beside her.

After a few sips she drops her hands to the edge of the basin and grips it, leaning—barely holding up her weight. The whole world seems to be spinning around her. Her eyes are desperate for something to hold onto, and they focus on the sunlight reflecting off of the water in the basin. But even that ripples and shakes and shivers, just like everything else.

She loses herself in the dancing light—staring—staring—staring—

"Emma. Emma!"

She gasps when he touches her arm, and nearly falls when she lets go of the basin to look at him.

Fear shines bright in his eyes as he tightens his grip to keep her on her feet. "You're chilled to the bone and you can barely stay on your feet. Stop saying you're fine when you're bloody well not!" 

Emma's mind is so foggy she has no words for a reply, and she submits meekly as he slings his long coat around her shoulders and wraps his arm around her waist to lead her inside.

It only takes them a few minutes to find an unoccupied sitting room on the ground floor, and Killian nudges the door closed behind them and lowers her to a sofa. He moves to back away from her but she clings to his hand. He's the only steady thing in the spinning world right now, and she doesn't want to let go.

"I was going to start the fire," he says softly.

She shakes her head. "I don't need the fire. Just sit with me."

His lips are tight with worry, but he nods and takes a seat next to her.

Emma has never been much of a cuddler, but when the whole world is swirling around you except the man sitting beside you, you sure as hell hold on tight. She circles her arms around him and nuzzles her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes against the increasingly hazy scene. 

His body tenses up when she first leans into him, but after a moment he relaxes and leans back to let her take a more comfortable, semi-reclined position. Emma sighs, breathing deep. He smells of sweat and exertion and old leather in the best possible way, and it comforts her far more than it should. She slides one of her hands up his chest and weaves her fingers through the thin fuzz of hair beneath her cheek.

"You're warm," she whispers.

"A fire would be warmer." His voice sounds a little strained, which strikes her as odd. The battle is over. They're safe. What does he have to feel tense about?

"No. This is better," she says. Then, on sudden impulse, she pulls back just enough to look down at his chest, blinks her blurry eyes, and quickly starts unhooking his vest.

"Emma?" His voice is strangled.

As soon as the vest falls open she starts in on his shirt buttons—not that there's many left to open. He hardly bothers with half of them, lately.

"What in blazes are you doing?" he asks, sounding slightly panicked.

She huffs. Isn't it obvious? "Sharing body heat," she mutters, finishing most of his buttons and sliding her hands inside his shirt, wrapping her arms around his warm torso. She sighs contentedly and rests her cheek back against his chest, basking in the warmth radiating from his core and sinking into the hypnotic sound of his heartbeat.

"Well," he says, "this is interesting."

His voice still sounds strained, and she has no idea why. He needs to get over it. "It feels good," she murmurs, her eyes closed. She feels herself hovering on the edge of sleep.

"That it does," he whispers.

She feels his arms circle around her, holding her tight, before everything sinks into darkness.

Her warm cushion suddenly shifts and she startles awake with a gasp. She raises her head, blinking her eyes rapidly.

"Gods—I'm sorry. I was just adjusting my stance a bit. I didn't mean to wake you."

Emma frowns for a moment as she remembers turning Killian into her own personal heating pad (what the _hell_ had she been thinking?), and then clears her throat and lifts her eyes to meet his, wondering if she should leave her hands where they are or not (because the whole thing is ridiculous and embarrassing but it really does feel good and he isn’t exactly complaining). "No. No. It's fine. Really. Um. How long have I been asleep?"

She opts for pulling her hands back a little, but doesn't remove them completely.

"I'd guess it's been a bit short of an hour," he says, eying her warily. Not that she can blame him. This isn't exactly typical behavior for her.

She pulls her hands the rest of the way out of his shirt, feeling a pang of regret at having to abandon the warm and cozy position. "An hour? Wow. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tied you down like this."

A faint smile emerges on his face. "I'll never mind being tied down by you, love."

She smiles at the familiar double entendre in his words. It makes her feel more like herself again. She still feels exhausted, but her nap took the edge off of it, and her head isn't spinning anymore.

Her lips feel dry and she licks them a little, smiling in amusement when she notices the way Killian's eyes fixate on her mouth.

"I'm glad you're safe," she says, confessing her fears from earlier.

"I'm not about to get myself killed when you still have need of me, Emma."

His eyes bore right into her heart, and she's increasingly aware of the intimacy of their position. "Good," she says softly, and a bright new joy seems to blossom on his face when he hears that single word.

It takes her just a moment to remember when she spoke that word to him before, at their parting more than a year ago. She'd meant it to give them both hope, when hope was all they had. It seems that it worked. But now they can have so much more.

She wants to kiss him. She knows full well that her defenses are down because of her exhaustion and her relief that everyone is safe. She knows that under other circumstances she wouldn't make this choice so rashly. But right now she doesn't particularly care. Right now she just remembers how comforting and wonderful his kiss had been last night, and she wants to feel that again, regardless of any consequences.

_Why not?_ She thinks as she slides one of her hands back inside his shirt, her eyes locked on his lips.

He instantly understands what she wants when she leans her face even closer to his, and she hears him catch a quick breath before his lips meet hers, open and ready.

There's nothing soft or gentle about this kiss—not like last night.

Instead it's passion and heat and bumping noses and scraping teeth and pushing tongues and grabbing hands and it doesn't matter how tired she is because she never wants it to end.

His hand tangles in her hair and the curve of his hook presses into her back and his chest heaves beneath her fingers as his lips work their way across her jaw and down her neck.

"Gods, Emma," he whispers between kisses, "Emma." His tone is filled with awe—almost worshipful. 

He raises his head, cradling her face with his hand and breathing heavily while he meets her gaze with lust-darkened eyes. For just a moment he looks poised to say something more, but then changes his mind and captures her lips instead.

Her breath shakes when she grabs at the hair at the back of his head with one hand and slides her fingers along the bare skin of his rib cage with the other.

With her mind still heavy with sleep this feels almost like a good dream. One she's in no hurry to wake up from.

If he really wants to worship her, she's ready to let him. Let him worship every last inch of her body.

"Emma! Emma!" 

She hears the muffled voices calling from the hall and pulls back slightly from Killian's kiss, cursing under her breath.

"I think it's your parents," he says, his body tensing beneath her hands. "They can't find us like this."

Emma frowns but she can't disagree and, as the sound of her name being called draws closer, they spend a few hurried seconds, smoothing their hair and retrieving Killian's coat from where it fell to the ground before the door pushes open and Mary Margaret sticks her head inside.

"There you are!" she says, but her smile falters at the sight of them sitting so close in such a disheveled state. (Killian has barely started to fasten his buttons when she arrives, and most of his abdomen is still exposed.)

Mary Margaret steps the rest of the way in. "Are you alright?" she asks Emma, evading any and all eye contact with Killian.

Emma smoothes her hair one more time and nods. "Yeah. Sure. I just, uh…"

Killian rises to his feet, pulling on his coat with a dramatic swoosh, though it still isn't quite enough to conceal his state of partial undress. "Your daughter was exhausted by today's efforts. She's had a little rest, but I think it advisable to get her a good meal and then get her to bed."

Mary Margaret finally meets his eyes with a stern gaze, and, though she's sitting on the sidelines, Emma suddenly feels like a toddler caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"You're absolutely right, Hook. Thank you for looking after her." Mary Margaret turns her gaze back to Emma. "Let's go. I'll get you to your rooms and have someone bring up some nice tea and a hot bowl of soup. Would you like that?"

Emma coughs and nods, rising to her feet with Killian's hand on her elbow.

Mary Margaret shoots another pointed glare at him and he drops his hand, stepping back.

Emma's face starts to feel warm. She'd thought that her mother had gotten to like the pirate over the past year. But maybe any mother would dislike catching her daughter making out like that. "Um, that sounds good. Maybe hot chocolate instead of tea, if you've got it."

"I think we can manage." Mary Margaret takes Emma's arm and smiles at her, leading her toward the door and calling back over her shoulder, "I'm sure David could use your help down by the bridge, Captain."

Emma glances back offering an apologetic smile, and sees Killian looking more than a little dazed and confused just before her mother pulls her into the hall and launches into a guided tour of the castle without uttering a single word about Killian.

Emma frowns but lets it slide. She's not sure she'd take it much better if she caught Henry making out with a leather-clad goth girl a few years too old for him. Still, a little less icy reserve would have been nice.

Though she meekly submits to being led to a large suite of rooms that are apparently set aside for her, Emma can't stop wondering how Killian is feeling, and whether or not she'll see him again today.


	4. Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful response to this story! I love seeing all the responses roll in. This chapter got crazy long, but most of it is really relationshippy stuff, so I don't think you'll mind. Just know you'll need more than a few minutes to get through it. And part 5 is probably 4-6 days out because life obligations are interfering with writing time. (Again.)

There is a new tension between Emma and Killian following Mary Margaret's untimely interruption (or timely—Emma hasn't made her mind up on that point, yet). But all of them are so busy with the tasks of reestablishing the stronghold of the castle, fortifying the portal-bridge, and shepherding more groups of emigrants from Storybrooke through to the temporary camp a short way from the castle that they have little time to indulge in personal issues.

Emma and Killian spend a lot of time in the emigrant camp and the nearby fishing village which houses the royal port. It's there that Emma feels a great sense of relief steal over her. Finally she's no longer battling curses or minions or witches. She's not on guard against old quests for vengeance or ongoing feuds. She's not desperately trying to save any member of her family. Instead, she's helping people get their lives going again after a series of unfortunate interruptions. And it feels damn good to be doing this kind of work instead of the other.

Emma teases Killian gently when she sees the look of relief and happiness on his face after finding the Jolly Roger still bobbing safely at anchor, and soon enough he starts teasing her back. It's good to return to this state of easy companionship, but Emma knows that things will never be quite what they were before. After what happened between them in the woods of Storybrooke and then again in the castle, the energy between them has changed permanently, and she struggles to know what she wants to do about it.

Yet, as they continue to work together, sharing their private jokes and quiet moments of peace, she finds that getting closer to him comes perfectly naturally. It feels right to squeeze his hand and meet his eyes with a smile after they finish erecting a new tent in the emigrant camp together. And if feels utterly natural when he rests his hand on the small of her back as they hike from the camp to the village to coordinate supply runs.

After a few days of such casual touches it then seems completely fitting to start stealing kisses in dark corners after planning meetings end, or just before saying goodbye when they part ways to undertake tasks apart from each other. Emma isn't quite sure who kissed whom first, but she knows that she's never eager to pull away.

Over the next few days Emma has moments when she's dealing with some of the other dozens of people who now turn to her for leadership, when it crosses her mind that she should also be putting more thought into figuring out exactly what it is she wants from her relationship with Killian.

She knows how he feels about her, and she knows she shouldn't be toying with his heart. She's not a relationship kind of woman, and letting him think that they have a shot at something more than this is wrong. But every time she quietly resolves to speak to him about putting an end to it, she sees the way his eyes light up for her like they do for no one else and she feels her heart start to race at the sound of his voice, and she decides to give it one more day. 

She'll solve the Hook problem tomorrow. For today, she's content with stealing kisses.

Ten days after Emma entered the Enchanted Forest, Henry and Regina finally cross over to join them.

After a brief, happy reunion, Regina learns about Emma's work in the camp and village and declares with disgust, "You're a princess now, Swan. It's time you started acting like one instead of doing the work of a common citizen." Regina insists on a new schedule—more rigorous weaponry training with Mulan and Little John, daily magic lessons, riding lessons, and sitting in on the endless tedious administrative meetings that Mary Margaret and David have been managing up until now. Her parents agree that Regina is probably right. Emma reluctantly agrees to the new schedule, though it leaves her little free time, and she intends to spend most of that precious time with Henry.

She manages a hasty apology to Killian that night at dinner in the great hall (though why she feels the need to apologize to him for anything still confuses her), and he merely smiles knowingly and sighs. "I knew it was too good to last, darling. Princesses and common men like me have different duties in life. Their paths won't always cross."

Emma manages to hold her tongue, though the urge to shout to the world that he's far from common and she is most certainly _not_ a princess nearly overtakes her. The whole concept of being part of a line of hereditary rulers stills sits wrong with her, and once this business with the witch is taken care of she might start floating the idea of free and open elections. But for now all of that will have to wait. 

"We'll still see each other, though," she says. "I mean, you're in the castle all the time, right?"

"That I am," he says, a searching look on his face. "And I…I would hate for our moments together to come to an end."

Emma's throat feels tight and she knows that now would be the perfect time to tell him that they ought to take a break until things in the kingdom quiet down. It's not like they're really _together_ , after all. They've been more like a pair of horny teenagers carrying on a secret fling than like any kind of real relationship.

"Yeah—about that…I…uh…" She meets his eyes, and sees how both hope and fear flicker there, and the thought of being the one to kill that hope hurts like a punch to her gut, leaving her winded. This should be easy. Why isn't it easy? "I don't want that, either," she finally whispers, and the answering expression of delight on his face sends a thrill through her whole body.

Yet, moments later, she silently curses herself all the way back to her place at her parents' table because the last thing she has time for right now is to carry on with her adolescent sneaking around. Emma looks up to see that Mary Margaret is watching her—that she probably watched the entire exchange with Hook—and from the expression on her face she isn't happy with what she saw.

Killian vanishes completely from Emma's life for the next few days.

She is busy enough with her new schedule—and with introducing Henry to the wonders of this strange new realm—that at first she barely has time to miss him. But in her few quiet moments before bed each night she does wonder why she hasn't seen him, and memories of their fiery kisses mingle with flights of even more passionate fancy in her dreams every night, leaving her jittery and frustrated every morning when she wakes.

On the third day of his absence she feels annoyed. On the fourth she feels frustrated. On the fifth she feels lonely.

That night as she readies herself for bed, frowning and grinding her teeth at the ache of the hole he's suddenly left in her life, the truth of what she's been denying finally blossoms in her mind, so clear and plain that she feels like a fool for ignoring it for so long.

Killian is more than just a fling. He's always been more than just a fling (though up until this very moment she would have proclaimed the opposite).

On top of the potent physical attraction she feels for him, he's also become the best friend she has in the Enchanted Forest—hell, one of the best friends she has _anywhere_. And she knows full well that you don't just have a "fling" with your best friend and come away unscathed.

She settles into her bed still pondering the question: if he's more than just a fling and more than just a friend, what the hell is he? And why hasn't he sought her out even once this week?

Just after dawn she rises with a fresh determination. Today she'll find him and she'll let him know she still wants him in her life, no matter how busy that life might be.

It might still take her a few more weeks—or even months—to figure out exactly what she wants out of her relationship with him. But, after all, isn't that what dating is all about? She feels silly equating their relationship with dating and shakes her head at the thought of calling him her boyfriend, but really there's no other term that seems to apply.

Okay. So she's dating Captain Hook. So what? Stranger things have happened (most of them directly involving her family). Maybe she deserves a little fun in her life after all she's been through the past few years. And Killian is certainly eager for the same. Why not take the chance? It's not like she can't back out later if things don't go well. That's how these things work, right? (Though the sudden piercing pain in her chest at the thought of things not working out shocks her.)

She swallows her nerves, skips breakfast and borrows a horse for the short ride down to the village, but he's not at the inn or onboard the Roger. The innkeeper tells her that "Captain Jones," as most of the villagers call him, stayed at the castle last night.

Emma frowns while she rides back to the castle. If he stayed there for the night, why hadn't she seen him at the communal dinner? Or in the courtyard? Or in the dozens of other places where she usually saw all the most familiar faces of the castle. Had he been avoiding her?

She joins Mulan for her regular morning training session, but manages to skip out early with some concocted excuse. She searches the castle, trying all the usual places, asking if anyone has seen him. A few of the other castle residents (She still can't bring herself to think of them as "servants." Emma does _not_ have servants.) tell her they've seen him in the council chambers or the sparring field or the blacksmith's shop, but each time she arrives he's already left.

It's almost like a ridiculous game of hide-and-seek where she'll never stop being "it."

She's cranky when she joins her parents for lunch, giving short clipped responses to all their questions and tearing into her food like she can't possibly eat it fast enough. She knows full well that it's childish to take out her frustrations on her family, but some days she just can't help herself.

After lunch David pulls her aside and asks for a favor. He's been pressing Hook to accept a commission in the royal navy, and Hook has been reluctant to take it. David asks her to try to talk Hook into it for him.

Emma reluctantly agrees, but it weighs on her heart. She doesn't want things like jobs and duty to get in the way of what she really wants to tell Killian. But, no matter how much she dislikes being a princess and a savior, she's already taken on the responsibilities of both and she can't stop now on a personal whim.

She sends a note to Regina begging out of their daily magic lesson, encouraging her to spend the time with Henry instead (an almost certain way to succeed in avoiding consequences for cancelling), and starts looking for Killian again.

She finally finds him in the cartography room just off of the royal library. He's not wearing his coat and his shirt sleeves are rolled up around his elbows. The sight of him bending over the chart spread across the large table is enough to start her heart racing.

When he hears her enter he looks up with an annoyed expression on his face which almost instantly transforms into a genuinely happy smile. This is enough to soothe all her fears that he's been avoiding her, and she smiles back—a wider smile than she's worn for anyone except Henry, lately.

"Swan," he says, straightening up. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

"Am I?" She steps further into the room.

"Indeed you are. Everyone else in this bloody place seems determined to drown me in problems to solve and tasks to accomplish. I hardly have time to take a breath." He leans back against the table.

She moves a few steps closer. "It's nice to know you haven't been intentionally avoiding me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Hardly. I'd have sought you out, if I could, but Her Grace your mother seems intent on assigning me duties far away from wherever you happen to be." He folds his arms across his chest, his eyes darkening. "It's almost as if she doesn't care to have us spending time together."

Emma squeezes her lips together. "Really? You actually think she's doing this on purpose?" Though she's noticed her mother's disapproval of her relationship with Killian she doesn't think Mary Margaret would ever stoop to something so petty. "Besides, she's learned to like you over the past year, hasn't she?"

Killian huffs. "She likes me well enough as an ally. That doesn't mean she approves of me as a suitor for daughter."

Emma feels an unexpected twinge in her gut at the word "suitor," but before she can react he presses on, saying, "And with her current maternal condition, I think she's grown more protective than usual."

Now this, Emma can relate to. Mary Margaret's pregnancy has certainly been kicking her mommy-instincts into overdrive. Every time they're together her mother can't seem to stop trying to either pamper or instruct her. There doesn't seem to be any other mode, lately. "You might be right about that part," she concedes.

She sighs, walks to the table, and leans against it next to him. "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about my mother."

"Good," he replies, and a teasing smile blossoms on his face as he asks, "So what did bring you to my side this afternoon?"

"Two things," she replies. "First, I hear that David's been trying to get you to take a position in the royal navy?"

Killian's expression clouds over, a frown darkening his face. "Not this business again. And now he's dragged you into it, has he?"

Emma shrugs. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I don't see what the big deal is. You'd be doing pretty much the same things as you already are, you'd just get an official title to go with it."

"He wants to make me a bloody admiral. Did you know that?"

Emma shakes her head, a little amused by Killian's tone of outrage.

He waves his arms at his side in emphasis. "An admiral! Of our glorious fleet of two brigs—including the Roger—two ketches, two cutters, and a half dozen dories. That's not a fleet! It's a bloody disgrace."

Emma has zero idea what he's talking about (sailing ships aren't exactly a hobby of hers), but that isn't what matters right now. "So make it better," she says.

"I intend to," he replies. "But I don't need any title to do that." He shakes his head. "David and Snow want a familiar face that they can put in a poncey uniform and parade around to help inspire confidence. It doesn't really mean anything. And I won't do it."

Emma raises her eyebrows and folds her arms in front of her. "Really? You think they're doing this for some sort of propaganda?"

"In part, yes," he tilts his head toward her. "And if I take a commission I'll have to swear an oath to serve and obey your parents. Gives your mum a stronger hand to play against me if she ever decides she wants me out of your life once and for all."

"Seriously? You're back to this again? Because I'm not really in the mood to hear you badmouth my parents."

"Fine. I understand." He nods, straightening up and walking a few paces away. "I'll let it drop. But it rankles me that out of all their allies, I'm the one they want to make this extra oath of loyalty." He meets her eyes again. "Hood's made no such oath, nor Mulan, or the dwarves, or the fairies, or any other the other members of their most trusted allies. So why me?" He spreads his arms imploringly. 

This conversation is going the opposite of how she'd hoped—it feels right on the edge of becoming a fight. "Ugh. Fine. So you won't serve. I get it."

"No," he says, his words harsh and clipped. "I don't believe you do get it. All I ever do is serve!" His words come out in a low growl, and Emma cringes. She didn't mean to hit a sore spot with her words, but she did all same."

"I've done nothing but serve since bloody Neverland," he continues.

"You're right. I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "I know that."

Killian runs his hand through his hair and looks at the ground. "I've served as long and true as most of their other allies—longer than some. All of them serve out of friendship and honor, as do I." He points at his chest.

"My parents understand that. And they'll treat you with friendship and honor whether you swear an oath or not. I'm not here to try to talk you into taking the commission, okay? David wanted me to talk to you about it—that's all. He just doesn't understand why you're so vehemently opposed to it, and, frankly, neither do I. Is it just your pride, your something? What's really going on here?" She narrows her eyes, beginning to sense that there's more holding him back than he's let on.

He scowls. "It is far more than pride, I assure you. Fine, you want the truth, here's the truth: long ago I swore my oath of fealty to a king whom I believed to be a good man. But in the end he turned out to be nothing more than a ruthless tyrant, determined to exterminate his enemies at all costs and his lust for power cost me the life of my brother. I'll not make that same mistake again."

Emma's frustration begins to soften. David mentioned Killian's naval history to her, but Killian's never spoken to her about what led him to piracy. Now she has an important part of the story, and she can see how painful it is for him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know the full story. But you can't really you think my parents will turn out like that?"

"No. I don't. I trust your parents and their motives. I will continue to throw my support behind them and their cause because they are my friends, I believe in their plans for the kingdom and my honor will not permit me to turn aside. Nothing will change that. But I will not swear my loyalty to them. I won't leave myself vulnerable to being used again—ever. I made a vow to myself a very long time ago that from that day forward I would serve no master but my own convictions, and I've kept that vow."

Emma swallows. His voice is thick with tension and long-held sorrow, and she flounders for a way to lighten the mood. She forces a smile. "Are you sure that's the best idea? After all, your convictions led you on a three-century quest for vengeance."

Killian's answering smile is dry and mocking. "Aye. But if they hadn't, you and I never would have met, now would we?"

Though he tries to play the words as a joke, she's knows he's as serious as he's ever been. She's not sure how she feels about being called the person who makes his three hundred years of suffering worthwhile. That particular pedestal is more than a little uncomfortable.

She looks away from his gaze. "I'll drop the whole navy thing, and I'll make sure David does too." She didn't come here to pick a fight. She just wants things to go back to being light and fun again.

"Good," Killian says softly. "Be sure he understands it's nothing personal. But I can never offer my fealty to any royal ever again."

While Emma is glad that their almost-fight seems to be over, the back of her neck is tingling and she can't help but say, "You're lying."

He swallows, his gaze solemn and steady. "I suppose I am." He hesitates a moment. "Would you take my oath if I offered it to you?"

Her breath catches in her throat and his gazes pierces her heart. She knows he really would vow his lifelong service to her right then and there if she asks for it. She steps closer to him, holding his gaze. "I don't need to. I already know what you're willing to do for my sake. An oath won't make it any more real."

Killian's eyes are bright with emotion, and he leans toward her. "When you first came in here you told you me that you sought me out for two reasons. I think we've spent more than enough time on the first. What exactly was the second?" His hungry smile tells her that he's already anticipated her answer.

"Oh, I think you know," she replies.

Their lips crash into each other as they kiss with a sudden violent passion. 

Emma gasps as heat fills her entire body. _So this is what it's like to make up with him after a fight._ Maybe it was worth it.

It's easy to tell that he's just as wound-up from their five day separation as she is. Their kisses are hungrier and deeper than ever before, and she can't stop her hands from roaming across his body—his sides, his chest, his face, his back, his ass—everything she can touch.

She's already burning when he eases his knee between her legs and begins to push against her sensitive zone just right, in a way that elicits a moan from deep in her throat. He grins against her lips and begins to tease her nipples with the back of his hook—still pushing—pushing—

She moans again—more of a happy eager hum—and starts pushing back. Fine. This is it. If she's really going to try out this whole "relationship" thing, now's as good a time as any to take things to the next level. Lord knows they could both use a few good orgasms to help them unwind from all the stress they've been under lately.

Once again humming against his lips she lowers her hand to caress the warm bulge in his pants, deeply gratified by the answering groan from his chest.

Emma rubs him again, and he gasps, breaking their kiss and resting his forehead against hers. "We can't do this," he whispers.

She raises her hand back to his chest but grinds against his leg again—god that feels good. "Yeah—a little more privacy is probably a good idea. I think we can make it to my rooms without running into too many people."

He gently pulls away from her and shakes his head. "That's not what I meant, love."

A twinge of pain twists in her chest and she frowns. "I don't get it. I thought you wanted this."

Killian holds her gaze, a note of apology in his voice. "Believe me darling—I do. But this… all this," he waves his hand between them, "hiding in dark corners and empty rooms, sneaking off together… this isn't the way it's done. It's not proper. It's bad form."

Emma has a gut feeling that she's not going to like where this conversation is heading, but she's pretty sure there's no way around it. "What do you mean it's not proper? I know your history, Hook. You're not exactly a known for _proper_."

He swallows and tightens his jaw. "I may not be, but that doesn't mean I don't know how a proper gentlemen ought to behave."

Nope—she's really not liking where this conversation is going.

Killian steps closer to her again, his face hovering inches from hers. "Things were different in Storybrooke. I could pretend that you were just Emma Swan. But these past few weeks it's been made clear to me that here in the Enchanted Forest you aren't just Emma. You're a princess. Heir to the kingdom." 

Emma folds her arms across her chest, holding tight. She's been reminded of these very facts far too often this week, but she'd thought Killian was the last person who'd let it change the way he felt about her. Apparently she'd been wrong. "So what?" she says defensively.

"So," he says, "I know that after the life I've lived I can never truly be worthy of a princess's hand. The least I can do is give you a proper, open, formal courtship. It's what you deserve."

Emma's eyes go wide as her mind scrambles to process what he's saying. "Why do I suddenly feel like I stepped into a Jane Austen novel?"

Killian takes a step back and raises a quizzical eyebrow. "I've never read the works of this Miss Austen; however, if you wish me to do so you need only ask."

"Oh god." She runs her hands through her hair and turns away from him, her heart racing—and not in the good way. "Oh my god."

"Emma? Have I said something wrong?"

She spins on her heels to face him. "My hand? Courtship? Are you saying that you want to… to…" she almost chokes on the word, "…marry me?"

Killian's eyes widen, a flash of panic on his face before he regains control. "You've given me reason to think that… that particular long term goal would not be unwelcome. Am I wrong?"

"Yes!" The word bursts out of her before she can even think.

He flinches back as if she hit him, and the pain on his face hurts her in return—a sharp, piercing stab—but not enough to overcome her anger.

The silence between them lengthens as she struggles to sort out her confused emotions, while he seems to be fighting to recover his equilibrium.

He manages to find his words first. "So that's how it is," he says, his voice low and tight. "The dark corners and empty rooms are all you want. They're all the _pirate_ is good for."

Great. Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, now she has to deal with his old self-loathing habit. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?" He takes another step back from her.

"No. You know I care about you." 

"Do I? Do I really?" 

Emma grits her teeth. He really needs to stop pulling those puppy dog eyes on her when she's the one who deserves to be upset right now. "You should. But that doesn't mean I want to marry you. I don't even know if I want to marry _anyone_ , ever."

"But you're a princess." His genuine confusion is evident, and if this is the reception she gets for her doubts about the institution of marriage from a man who spent a decade living with another man's wife, then the reactions she'll get from everyone else are not going to be pretty.

"Again, so what? Just because all the other princesses around here end up married doesn't mean I have to."

He swallows and shakes his head. "I don't understand what you want from me, Emma. I would have been content to be nothing more than your servant—I truly would have been. But then you gave me reason to hope for something more. Yet now you tell me that you don't intend to marry, which leaves me back in this limbo of being more than a servant but less than your partner, and I don't know how much longer I can take this. You have to decide what you want from me, Emma."

Her anger flares again. "How dare you put this kind of pressure on me? You have no right to make this demand of me. None. Got it?"

He looks shocked by this turn of events, but she doesn't give a damn. Let him be shocked. Let him be hurt. As long as she manages to knock some sense into his thick skull. She steps toward him, glaring. "You've had more than a year to think about what you want out of this relationship. I've had less than three months. _Three months_. And, in case you forgot, for most of the first of those three months we were on opposite teams. So don't you dare tell me when I need to make a decision. This relationship, whatever it turns out to be, is happening on _my_ timing. Always. Or it doesn't happen at all."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and she can feel tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Great. Just great.

Killian lowers his eyes, and she thinks she sees a gleam of moisture in them echoing her own. "You're right," he confesses."I'm sorry. I had no right, just as you say." He meets her eyes again. "I am so sorry, Emma. These past days without you have been hell, and I let my frustrations get the best of me, but that's no excuse." 

Emma nods and folds her arms again. "Okay."

He sighs. "I thought I'd learned to be a patient man during my long decades in Neverland. Apparently the lesson didn't sink as deep as I'd thought. I will endeavor to do better from now on." 

"Good." Her shoulders sag in exhaustion. Everything about this conversation has gone completely wrong. She edges closer to him. "So where does this leave us now?"

He closes the distance between them and flashes a tentative smile. "You tell me, Emma. This is in your hands now, just as you wish."

She squeezes her eyes closed. Even after their fight, her feelings for him haven't changed—but now she feels nervous and anxious in a way she didn't when she decided to give this relationship a real try. Feeling certain that he loves her and knowing with certainty that he wants to marry her are somehow two very different things. In spite of that, she still cares about him more than anyone else outside of her family. She still wants to be with him. No one knows better than her how rare and precious second chances are. She owes it to herself to give this a try, no matter how scary it seems.

She opens her eyes and takes a breath. "I need you in my life, Killian. You're too important to me to lose."

His smile grows more genuine. "Now that is a relief."

Emma manages to smile back, but there is still so much to sort out. "I… don't have the greatest experiences with marriage in my life. Before my parents I never really saw a marriage that made it look very worthwhile. And you know better than most people that you don't need to be married to be partners." She lightly bites the inside of her bottom lip, marveling at her own words, even as they come out of her mouth. She wants to think that she's just making a point—illustrating her beliefs for him to understand. But deep down she knows it's more than that. She knows that they have the potential to get there someday. To be _partners_ in a way that she's never really known before, and it's terrifying and thrilling all at once.

He leans against the table again, and she follows suit.

"I do," he says with the same bittersweet note in his voice that she's heard on each of the rare occasions when he's spoken of Milah. "And if you were anyone else, I would agree. But whether you like it or not, Emma, you _are_ a princess. And that changes things. Princesses have to worry about things like good reputations and the respect of their subjects. An improper relationship with me right now would be a surefire way to lose both—rapidly."

Emma leans against him, threading her fingers through his. "I don't want to believe that." After all she's done for them, would these people really lose respect for her for finding a little happiness?

"Nor do I. The world has gone topsy turvy from too many curses and too much change. I want to do the honorable thing, but I don't know what that is anymore."

This is as vulnerable as she's ever seen him, and she squeezes his hand a little tighter. "Neither do I," she admits. Her mind races, trying to find the right words. But words have never been her strong suit. She wants to act. She wants to _do something_. 

Finally, desperate for something to break the tension, she asks, "What exactly is a proper courtship like?"

Killian laughs, a relieved, nervous laugh. "Well, I've never done it, myself. But I'm given to understand that it involves things like long walks, picnics, flowers, rides in the countryside, love poems, dancing at balls. That sort of thing."

His tone is light, and Emma manages a laugh of her own. "I don't think we'll be holding any balls anytime soon. God—can you image me in a ball gown?"

His eyes brighten. "Indeed I can."

She laughs again, but then sags as the weight of their difficult situation settles back over her. "Now might not be the right time for that kind of courtship."

"Will there ever be a right time?"

She lets out her breath in a rush. "Yeah. We never seem to have time, do we?"

"Not unless we make it for ourselves." He grips her hand tight, like he never intends to let go.

"I want to make the time. But I'm still not sure I want your kind of courtship," she confesses. "There's something that Ruby told me not long ago that stuck in my mind. She said that nearly half of all the people in the Enchanted Forest who'd been married or in serious relationships before Regina's curse ended up with someone else when they were sent to Storybrooke, and that more than a year later they're still trying to sort it all out. That's what happened to my parents."

Killian's eyes narrow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that after what these people have been through, between the curses and getting a taste of life in modern America, they're probably a hell of a lot more open-minded then they were before this all started. They might not mind a princess and a pirate being together as much as you think they will. Even if we're trying out a more modern form of courtship." Admitting her desire to get involved in a courtship of any kind at all sets nervous butterflies to flight in her stomach. There's not really any chance to turn back now, is there?

"I do hope you're right," he says, holding her gaze.

"So do I," she says with growing certainty.

"And what, pray tell, is this modern form of courtship that you speak of?" He smiles coyly.

"It's called dating. And it involves spending lots of time together—eating meals, watching shows, drinking, maybe some dancing—though not at balls."

He nods. "Sounds interesting. Perhaps I could get onboard with this sort of courtship. It sounds a bit more relaxed than an Enchanted Forest courtship."

She grins. "Yep. And there's another advantage." She leans forward to whisper in his ear. "Plenty of sex."

His breath catches in his throat and he nuzzles her forehead with his own, sending a tingle down her spine. "Now I do like the sound of that," he says.

"I thought you might." She squeezes his arm.

He pulls back a little. "I want, more than anything, to pursue this partnership with you. But I still feel it's important to be proper and honorable about it. That doesn't mean I intend to push you into commitments you're uninterested in, nor does it mean that I'm rejecting your _modern_ forms of courtship. But it does mean that even if my ideas have been too old-fashioned, you are still a princess. Everything you do will be scrutinized and examined by the entire realm. We need to be careful. Not just for your sake, but for the sake of the kingdom."

She squeezes her lips together. She thought being a savior was hard enough—being a princess is even worse. 

He speaks again, in a softer voice. "I didn't do things properly with Milah. I made mistakes, and there were grave consequences. I have to do things right this time."

She should have known that these feelings were at the heart of his hesitations. Now that she does, everything makes so much more sense. Just as he has no right to push her toward a marriage she may never want, she has no right to demand the kind of relationship that stirs up all his old pain and regret. 

Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

"Okay." She nods. "Fine. You're right. We need to figure out how to do this properly." A headache is coming on. She rubs her forehead. "I hate having to think of everyone else before myself. Something else I have to get used to, I guess."

"I'm sorry. I truly am." He smiles. "If it's any help, I can guarantee that when you're busy thinking of everyone else, I'll be sure to think only of you."

Emma knows that his words aren't entirely true. He's come to care about the kingdom and its people too much for them to be entirely true. But they are true enough that she simply smiles and accepts them at face value, because it feels too damn good to have someone who will always put her needs first. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." He raises her hand and dips his head to place a soft kiss across her knuckles and then meets her eyes with a smile.

"Well," she says, relaxing against him, "this conversation didn't go at all how I'd hoped."

"I'm sorry, love. This isn't exactly what I'd had in mind, either."

"It's okay. I guess we needed to figure this stuff out. But I’m not really sure what to do next. How do we do this right? Properly? What does that even mean?"

"That's the trick, isn't it? How do we know what's right and proper in a world where nothing makes sense anymore?" He looks thoughtful, but no longer upset.

"I guess…" Her mind is spinning as she tries to pin down her thoughts. "I guess we just make it up as we go along, and do our best to find some sort of happy medium between the old ways and the new ways. That's all we really _can_ do, right?"

His smile is happier now, and she's glad. Whenever he's happy she always feels a little better, too.

"Quite right, love. I think we both have it in us to be creative."

She nods. "I think we do."

He takes a deep breath, his face falling a little. "Unfortunately, our little courtship experiment is going to have to wait. Once again, duty stands in our way."

Emma's eyebrows shoot up. "What do mean?"

"I'm leaving on the Roger early tomorrow morning. I'm taking a large group of emigrants to their villages along the coast. If all goes well, I should be back by dusk two days hence. But I do need to get to my ship this afternoon to oversee the preparations." He looks as disappointed as she feels.

Duty. Thinking of others first. That is her lot in life, now. "Well. I guess it needs to be done. Even if I wish I could keep you all to myself for a little longer."

"We shall have to endeavor to arrange some private time when I return."

"I'm sure I can pull a few strings and make it happen," she says. "Otherwise what's the point in being a princess?"

He inclines his head toward her approvingly. "Well said, my lady."

"As for right now," she says, "maybe I can walk you down to the village. After all, isn't _long walks_ on your courtship list?"

Killian stands up straight. "Indeed it is. I'll have to fetch my coat and sword from my room, and then we can be on our way."

Before they leave the room she grabs his hand and pulls him toward her, taking her last chance to steal one final kiss.

When they pull apart she holds his gaze, nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach as she says, "I'm happy. This makes me happy."

The way his face brightens and his body lifts, as if freed from an invisible weight, makes him look ten years younger. "That's all I've ever wanted for you, Emma. You know that, don't you?"

She nods slowly, remembering the countless ways he's proved to her that her happiness is his first priority. "Yeah. I do." She takes a breath, and squeezes his hand. "Okay. Let's get going. You have a mission to prep for and I need to get back in time for my riding lesson."

Emma doesn't hold his hand when they walk through the camp and pass into the village, nor does she kiss him goodbye on the dock. She's never been a fan of public displays of affection, and this new thing between them hasn't changed that. Especially because she still hasn't figured out exactly what degree of public affection would be considered "proper."

She walks back to the castle with a feeling of peace and lightness in her heart that she hasn't felt since before Killian turned up at her door back in New York. Eventually she'll have to figure out how to break the news of all this to her parents and Henry, but for the next two days, she decides, she'll keep it to herself. A happy little secret all her own.

She intends to meet Killian at the docks when he returns, but she doesn't get the chance. In the early afternoon on the day the Roger is to return, one of David's spies returns to the castle with news: at long last, Neal has been found.

 

tbc


	5. Fifth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another really long chapter (I just love long plotty-plots), but the final chapter will be much shorter. Thanks for all the love!

No one is really surprised to learn that Neal is a prisoner in the witch's dungeon—they've known it is a strong possibility for a long time, now.

When Emma breaks the news to Henry his eyes flash with shock and concern, but then he tightens his jaw and nods. "Okay. So how do we save him?"

A council of their most trusted allies meets until late in the night, working out a rescue plan. Killian joins them about an hour after the meeting starts, having rushed up from the docks. Emma meets his eyes across the room and he nods in acknowledgement—far from the type of greeting she'd hoped to give him.

But their "courtship," such as it is, will have to wait.

Eventually they work out a plan. A small troop of soldiers, led by Hook, will pass near the witch's stronghold as a diversion, to draw her forces out onto the plain and away from her dungeons. At the same time two smaller parties will approach the stronghold itself. Robin Hood will lead a second diversionary group in a mock break-in, intended to draw the focus of the witch and her guards. (Though David offers to lead one of the parties himself, both Hook and Robin insist he stay behind to defend the portal—and his expectant wife). The final group, a team of only four people, will hide near the stronghold and wait for the diversions to work—then two of them will use magic to teleport into the dungeons, locate and rescue Neal, and then teleport back out.

It takes some arguing with her parents and Regina to make her case, but eventually they agree that Emma will be the one to go for Neal. Regina is needed by the portal bridge just in case it starts to collapse, and the fairies don't work teleportation magic. It has to be Emma.

Her parents urge her to get a few hours of sleep before the plan kicks into action in the morning, and Killian is waiting in the corridor just outside the great hall when she leaves. He falls into step beside her with nothing more than a nod of greeting. "Is it to be you?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm the one."

"I expected as much." He reaches out touch her arm, and they both halt. "He was trying to find a way to get to you and Henry. He was trying to put his family back together." His eyes are earnest, and he almost seems to be pleading, though for what she doesn't know.

"I know. Belle told me." She folds her arms across her chest, finally feeling her weariness.

He steps a little closer to her, and for just a moment she wishes that she could let him hold her, but there are too many people still walking the corridors. "You can do this, Emma," he says softly. "You can bring Henry's father home to him."

She lets herself smile, just a little. "I just don't want to get anyone else killed in the process."

Killian smiles back. "We can handle ourselves, love." He punctuates the sentence with a cocky wink, and Emma can't help but smile a little broader.

She squeezes his hand briefly and bids him goodnight.

Just before dawn Emma meets with Regina to practice teleportation. After three exhausting hours she thinks she's mastered the skill enough to pull off the rescue. By then all the troops and companions joining her on the venture are prepared to go. She eats a hurried meal, downs one of the precious supply of energy drinks that she hopes will get her through this journey, and heads to the courtyard to say goodbye.

She keeps her farewell to her parents as short as she can, but when she hugs Henry she can't help but linger. "I'll find him, kid, and I'll bring him back. I promise."

Henry squeezes her tighter than he has in ages. "I know you will. Be safe, Mom. I love you."

Emma fights back her tears. "I love you, too."

As she rides out of the courtyard, the large party falling in behind her, she doesn't let herself look back.

They ride without stopping until just after dusk. Most of the time Emma rides alongside Mulan and Little John, who've become her frequent companions since her more rigorous training began. She looks for Killian a few times, but he stays close to his troop. She tries not to make anything of it—now is hardly the time to carry on with their courtship experiment. Still, it would have been nice to have him a little closer.

She has a feeling in her gut that his distance has something to do with Neal. That old relationship was always a point of difficulty for Killian and, if she's reading him right, he's still not entirely comfortable with it.

She grits her teeth at the thought. If Hook really thinks they'll be going back to some silly fight for her heart, he needs a bucket of cold water dumped over his head to wake him from that delusion. None of them have time for that kind of childish crap.

They make camp for night but light no fires. They need to conceal their movements for as long as possible.

Emma feels a little guilty as she beds down for the night, knowing that she won't be standing a shift on watch. But Regina insisted she get as much sleep as possible to prepare her for the exertion of the magic she'd need for the rescue.

Just as she settles down, Killian walks by. "Sleep well, my lady. We'll keep you safe in the night." His words have only the slightest edge of his familiar teasing tone, but it's enough to reassure her—at least a little.

"I know," she replies in all seriousness. "I trust you."

She looks up, holding his gaze in the starlight. His face looks troubled and weary, and she wishes he could lie down beside her, but she knows better than to ask.

"Sleep well, Emma," he whispers, before continuing on his way.

She manages a few hours of sleep, but her dreams are troubled. She sees Henry lying, comatose on a hospital bed. She sees Neal falling through a portal as her heart breaks all over again. She hears her mother confessing that she wants another child—one she can actually raise as her own. She sees a cloud of purple smoke pouring across her home, enveloping everyone she loves. Her heart aches under the weight of all the pain and loss, and she knows the person who can help her keep going—who can make her feel strong—is out there, somewhere, but she's lost him in the dark. She can't find him. She's running down a long corridor of doors, opening each one as she passes, expecting to see his smiling face, to hear his eager greeting, _"Swan. At last,"_ but she finds only darkness.

The sound of crows cawing in the trees overhead wakes her just as dawn is breaking, and her whole body aches from sleeping on the ground. She still feels shaken and jumpy from her dream. She never found what she was looking for. No—not what. She'd been looking for a _who_ , though she can't remember who it was. Everything is hazy and fading fast.

She's still stretching when Killian appears at her side. He crouches with a smile and offers her one of her energy drinks. She got addicted to the things while juggling full-time motherhood and bail bonds work in New York, and having a steady supply of them thanks to the portal-bridge to Storybrooke has been saving her life. 

"Your morning restorative, my lady," he says.

"Thanks," she takes it, pops the top, and starts gulping it down.

He shakes his head. "I still don't know how you can stand that stuff."

She shrugs. "It's an acquired taste."

The company sets out again less than half an hour later. They spend another long day riding—their last as a united company, before splitting into their smaller parties. Once again Killian spends most of the day with his own troops, only sparing her a few moments. His distance irks her. He's never been like this going into danger before. He's always wanted to be right by her side the whole time, and she doesn't know what's changed. Just two days before this crap hit the fan he'd been ready to charge head first into the whole courtship thing. She frowns at the thought that Neal's reappearance has been enough to deter Killian. She'd thought he was the sort of man who fought for what he wanted—not the sort of man who backed out at the first sign of trouble.

She has another night of troubled dreams and rises feeling irritable and antsy. They'll reach the witch's stronghold by mid-morning, and she's not sure if she's ready.

This morning Killian greets her with not just one, but two energy drinks. He smiles when she raises an incredulous eyebrow. "You look like you need an extra boost, today, love. There's some hard work ahead of us."

Unfortunately, she has to agree. 

Killian moves to return to his troops, but she won't let him get away so easily this time. She grabs his elbow. "Hey—walk with me a minute?'

He nods, and Emma frowns at the look of wariness on his face. Damn right he should be wary.

They walk away from the center of camp as she sips her energy drink. Dry twigs crunch beneath their feet, and though there is no frost on the ground the spring air is still cold this time of day. Emma manages to hold her tongue until they're well out of earshot of anyone else.

"So what's the deal?" she asks, breaking the ice. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

He looks at the ground, fidgeting and rubbing his ear with his fingers. "I'm not avoiding you, darling. I've never fought alongside some of these men before. I needed to take the time to establish a rapport with them."

"Bullshit," she replies. "I know when you're lying, remember?"

He looks skyward and rolls his tongue around inside his cheek the way he always does when she catches him doing something he's not proud of. Emma folds her arms across her chest and glares at him. "Well? Has something changed?" she asks. "Are you still in this thing with me, or have you changed your mind?"

"Never," he says quickly, his eyes snapping to hers.

"Good." She didn't think he had, but it's nice to have confirmation all the same.

He spreads his arms, waving them defensively. "I simply didn't think this would be the appropriate forum in which to take our _thing_ , as you so delicately put it, public." This is at least a half truth, but she knows she'll have to confront him head on about the other big reason behind the distance he's been keeping these past two days.

"You're right. It's not," she agrees. "But having a conversation that lasts more than two minutes still would have been nice."

"Duly noted, my lady," he says, starting to sound apologetic instead of defensive. 

She sighs. Time to rip off the band-aid. "You know that Neal coming back won't change things between us, don't you?"

"Won't it?" he says softly.

Emma edges closer to him, holding his gaze. "No. It won't. I made my choice. I'm in this for the long haul. Got it?" She's never thought of their relationship in these terms before this very moment, but she's knows it's true when the words come out of her mouth and set the butterflies dancing in her stomach. Emma doesn't do things in half measures. She may not be the marrying type—now or ever—but she's ready for something that lasts. She'll see this thing through to its end, whether that comes in six months or six years or not until the end of her life (which is certainly an intimidating thought, but appealing and tantalizing at the same time).

At last a smile flickers across his face, and he's her Hook again. Almost. There's still a glint of worry in his eyes that she feels certain only time will fully erase.

"Understood," he says, nodding. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Emma. I should know better by now."

She takes another step closer to him, smiling. "It's okay. We're both just making this up as we go along, remember? There's bound to be a few bumps in the road."

"I'm certain this won't be the last," he agrees with a wry smile.

As much as she wants to end the conversation with a kiss, there are a lot of people with a good view of them, and this still isn't the best time or place to take things public. So instead she reaches out to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

A bright spot of color on the forest floor catches her eye. It's a patch of small yellow buttercups growing in a sunny gap beside a fallen tree. She drops his hand and strides over to pluck two from the cluster, and then walks back toward him, twisting the stems together.

She's not normally sentimental or cheesy with her lovers (which he still hasn't officially become—a fact her body reminds her of quite forcefully from time to time), but right now a little sentiment feels appropriate. "Here." She tucks the stems into the top buttonhole of his vest and arranges them until they are snug and secure against his chest. "Keep these with you. For luck."

He looks slightly astonished as he smiles at her, but also very well pleased. He rests his hand softly over the blossoms. "I'll treasure them."

Emma's throat feels tight. They've headed into to danger before, but always at each other's side. Going off apart from each other doesn't feel right. But this is the plan. They've got to follow through. "Be safe. Come back to me."

"I will. I promise."

Those words continue to echo in her ears twenty minutes later when he rides away at the head of his troop, leading them off to prepare the first diversion.

A short while later the rest of the company mounts and heads toward the witch's castle.

They halt their journey in a thick glade less than a mile from the castle. While Robin prepares his men for their fake assault, Emma sits with her three companions—her two trainers, Mulan and Little John, and Gerald, the spy who brought them news of Neal's imprisonment in the first place.

They eat a little food and arrange their weapons while they wait.

Mulan moves to sit beside Emma and speaks in a low voice. "It may be half an hour or more before the signal comes."

Emma nods, gritting her teeth.

"While we have a moment," says Mulan, "may I ask a personal question?"

Emma raises her eyebrows. Mulan tends to be strictly business during their training sessions. They aren't exactly friends, but she likes her well enough. "Sure. What is it?"

Mulan seems to be holding her breath for a moment before she speaks again. "I have a personal problem that you have unique insight into. I've been wondering—how long did it take you to let your heart move on from the father of your child, before you could love another?"

Emma's eyes go wide and it's all she can do to stop her jaw from dropping. The poor woman isn't in love with Robin, is she? Because he seems pretty taken with Regina, and Emma does not want to have to be the one to break that news to her. (And she doesn't even want to _think_ about the fact that Mulan speaks of her as loving another as if it's common knowledge, because it sure as hell isn't supposed to be—and other people really aren't supposed to be calling it love when she hasn't put that label on it first. _Should she? Is she ready to call it that?_ )

"Um. Well. It took a long time. A really long time. But my circumstance was different. I was mourning the loss of my son and the loss of his dad at the same time, so, uh, I think the pain cut a little deeper. I didn't have anything left to hold onto."

Mulan nods thoughtfully. "But in this past year you were given memories of raising your son. Did that change your perspective at all?"

Emma swallows hard. God, why does Mulan think now of all times is right for this discussion? "Yeah. I guess it did. I mean, it gave me someone to throw all my love into. Someone to stay strong for. A reason to be happy and hope for better days. I do remember feeling ready to move on and find new love earlier in those memories than I was in my real life. And then when he finally showed up, it felt easy to let him in. It was easy to open my heart to him, because I finally knew what living with an open heart felt like." She pauses, her eyes wide. The words are coming so easily—flowing out of her as if she's felt this along, even if she's never said it before. 

Mulan doesn't look comforted. If anything, she looks more troubled than before. "Would it have been so easy if Neal had been in your life and Henry's that whole time?"

Emma knits her brows and frowns. "I—I don't know. Wait a minute—" She suddenly remembers the princess who always waits for Mulan at the end of their training sessions, often holding her baby in her arms. The princess who alone seems capable of drawing smiles out of the otherwise stoic warrior. "Oh. You're not talking about Robin, are you?"

Mulan looks aghast. "You thought I was talking about Robin?"

"Not anymore I don't." Emma shakes her head, pity welling in her chest for the lonely woman beside her. "I'm sorry, Mulan. Your situation is a lot more complicated than mine. I don't have much advice for you, but I do have some. Don't push her. Ever. If she decides to be with you, it has to be in her own time, in her own way. And you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that it'll never happen at all."

Mulan nods, looking at the ground, her muscles tight. "I know. I have always known. That does not make me love her less." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I should not have burdened you with this. It is my problem to solve." She moves to rise, and Emma stops her, resting a hand on her arm.

"Hey—it's okay. We all need a friend to vent to once in awhile. I can be that, if you need it. Or if you ever just need to blow off steam on the training grounds, I'll always be happy to cross swords with you."

Mulan smiles faintly. "Thank you. I may accept that offer." She nods again and stands, moving away. Emma lets her have her privacy.

The strange marvel of love occupies Emma's mind as she continues to wait. She can empathize with Mulan's pain, because she's felt a similar pain of her own. For years she believed she could never truly let go of her love for Neal. But now, since finding herself again, even though Neal's disappearance worried her it was never because she wanted him back romantically. The thought had never even crossed her mind. Somehow, between Neverland and Regina's gift, that tear in her heart had mended itself.

There is only one man she'd ever wanted close to her heart since he turned up outside her apartment door. And right now he is riding away from her into danger, and the thought of never seeing him again terrifies her.

She clenches the hilt of her sword and begins to pace.

At last the lookout on the edge of the thicket calls out, "The signal!"

Emma takes a deep breath. The signal—a modern flare brought over from Storybrooke—means that Killian's troop has been sighted, and the witch has sent out soldiers in pursuit. It's time to set the plan in motion.

Robin leads his men out of the thicket for the short jog to the castle, where they will make a show of trying to scale one of the walls.

"Remember," says Robin, just before leaving, "wait twenty minutes. No longer."

Emma nods and pulls a stopwatch out of her pocket to start the countdown as the last of Robin's men leave the thicket.

She turns to Gerald. "Okay. Let's review this one last time." She pulls a dream catcher from her saddlebag and sits beside him.

She and Gerald have used this spell several times already to review his memories of finding Neal in the dungeon. She wants to see it one more time before preparing to teleport. She watches Gerald's memories play out on the small circle before her, doing her best to memorize every twist and turn. She needs to know them by heart because Gerald is waiting behind to tend the horses with Little John. Emma needs a stronger warrior by her side when she heads into the witch's castle.

The timer on her watch beeps.

Emma rises, drawing her sword, and stands beside Mulan who also has her weapon at the ready. They link arms, and Mulan nods.

"Here goes nothing," says Emma, taking a deep breath. She lets herself think of Henry for just a moment—and then of Killian. With their faces still burning in her mind she focuses on the dungeon corridor where Neal is being held captive, and feels the magic swirling around her.

With a cold, stomach churning rush and a cloud of blue smoke she and Mulan lurch to their feet in a dark stone corridor. The ceiling of the windowless corridor is low and rough, and there is only one sputtering torch in sight.

Emma breaths deep to steady her still-lurching stomach and then nods at Mulan. "This way."

Everything is just as Gerald remembered it, save for the sound of marching feet overhead. The diversions seem to be stirring up a lot of action overhead.

They reach Neal's cell in less than a minute—a thick oak door with a tiny barred window at the top. Emma holds her hand over the lock and wills the barrels within to turn. They click open, and Mulan yanks the door open.

The cell is empty.

Shit.

"Okay," says Emma, her heart racing. "Time for plan B." They head back toward the guard room, Emma's anxiety building the closer they get. 

When they burst into the guard room together, Emma freezes, her fear paralyzing her as four burly men leap to their feet, grabbing for their weapons. Then, a second later, her training kicks in.

Emma disarms one man and knocks him to the ground while Mulan easily kills two others and knocks out the third. Emma pins her captive to the wall and Mulan joins her, leveling her blade at the man's throat.

"We're looking for Neal. Baelfire. A man with brown hair and brown eyes. His cell is empty. Where is he?" Emma demands in the most threatening voice she can muster.

The guard shakes in fear, the whites of his eyes showing. "He—he was giving Her Excellency trouble. So—so—"

"Where is he!" If Neal is dead—if Henry never gets the chance to see his dad again—she might be willing to take on the witch herself, right here right now.

"The oubliette," the guard chocks out. "We moved him to the oubliette."

"Take us there," says Mulan, her voice icy and menacing.

The guard leads them down a narrow staircase and through a cramped, damp hall. At the end of the hall he kneels to unlock a wooden hatch covering a hole in the floor.

"Is he down there?" Emma asks.

The guard nods, and Mulan promptly knocks him unconscious with the hilt of her sword.

A rickety ladder lies on the floor beside the hatch, and Emma lowers it in, hearing a slight splash as it touches down. She climbs into the darkness, fear prickling along her spine.

A foul smell fills her nose as she descends. She wouldn't wish this place on her worst enemy. She steps into the shallow puddle at the base and holds her hand up, conjuring a glowing ball of light to illuminate the oubliette. A raggedy-dressed man sits in the only corner that rises above the thin layer of standing water, huddled against the stone wall, and he covers his eyes against the light.

Emma wills the light to dim, and steps toward him. "Neal? Is that you?"

Slowly he lowers his arm and blinks at her with squinting eyes. His face is covered in a shaggy beard and he looks like he hasn't bathed in a month, but it's him.

"Emma?" he croaks. "Is it really you? This isn't a dream?"

"It's no dream." She moves toward him and takes his arm, helping him climb to his feet. "We're here to rescue you. Come on."

He looks bewildered as she leads him toward the ladder. "But you're gone. You're back in the real world. You aren't supposed to be here."

Emma ignores his shocked words and urges him up the ladder. Getting out of here is what matters know. She can answer his questions later.

He stumbles out into the hall on unsteady feet, and Emma follows. Neal blinks in shock at Mulan. "You're here too? You mean this is for real? This is actually happening?"

Mulan nods at him, offering a reassuring half-smile. "Yes, Neal. It is."

He turns his eyes back to Emma. "How are you even here?"

"It's a long story," she says. "Right now we need to get you out of here. Take my arm and hold on tight."

With Neal clinging to one of her arms and Mulan holding the other, Emma summons her magic again. In another puff of smoke they reappear in the forest thicket.

Neal falls to his knees, retching, and Emma can't blame him. Teleporting always makes her feel sick, too.

Little John and Gerald rush to his side, offering him water to sip and dry biscuits to nibble on.

Emma feels exhausted from the effort of teleporting with passengers, and she fishes in her saddlebag for another energy drink. She chugs it down and tucks the can away.

Neal seems a little more lucid as he finishes a few biscuits, and he still stares at Emma in astonishment. "I knew I'd see you again someday, Emma, but I gotta tell you this isn't how I expected it to happen."

"Yeah. Me neither." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry to rush you, but we've got other men out there in danger. We need to send our signal and get the hell out of here. Do you think you can ride?"

Neal nods. "I don't think I was in that pit too long. I still have enough strength to stay on a horse."

Emma nods and takes a flare gun out of her pack and aims it through a gap in the trees overhead. She fires and watches the bright explosion stand out vividly against the cloudy sky overhead.

She pulls out her stopwatch again and sets the timer for thirty minutes. "If Robin and his boys aren't back when this beeps, we're out of here." The others nod, and they all scramble to have the horse ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Just over twenty minutes later Robin and his men burst through the trees. A few of them are sporting fresh injuries, but nothing serious, and all of them are accounted for.

"Mount up!" Robin shouts, and no one argues. 

As soon as they are all on their horses they take off at a fast trot.

A troop of the witch's soldiers nearly runs them down an hour later, but they manage to escape with a little misdirection in the forest.

Emma's company keeps going long into the night, weaving in a long zig-zag path to throw any pursuers off their trail.

They stop for two hours rest before dawn. Emma feels as if she's only just closed her eyes when the light of the rising sun wakes her again. They mount their steeds and continue the journey.

By midday they reach the clearing which was chosen as the rendezvous point to meet back up with Hook's troop. Emma slides from her horse with relief, glad for another chance to rest.

After tending to her mount she sits with her back against a fallen tree and sips another energy drink. Neal walks over, munching on some trail mix. He sits down beside her.

"Is Henry safe?"

Emma nods. "He's back at the castle with my parents and Regina." She smiles. "He can't wait to see you again."

Neal grins. "God, I've missed that kid." He takes a deep breath. "I know what this rescue must have cost you all. Thank you. Thank you for coming for me."

"Did you actually think we'd leave you there?"

Neal shrugs and pops another handful of trail mix into his mouth. He washes it down with a gulp of water and stares out at the restless camp.

"Hook found you, didn't he? That's how you got here. He found you."

Emma smiles sadly at the note of resignation in Neal's voice. "Yeah. He did. About two months ago."

Neal nods. "It figures. I told him his plan was crazy. That it would never work. I thought he was just throwing his life away. Looks like I was wrong."

Emma doesn't know how to respond. She bites the inside of her bottom lip and looks down at her hands. So much has happened. So much has changed. How does she sum all that up in a few minutes?

"Robin mentioned that Hook is in charge of the other group we're waiting for here."

"Yeah. He volunteers to help a lot," says Emma lamely. It's as if her ability to communicate has fallen to pieces since yesterday.

"He got into that habit starting when we were in Neverland, and never really got out of it." Neal sighs. "I used to really hate him, y'know. For taking my mom away. You know about all that, right?"

Emma can tell from the look in his eyes that he's not trying smear Killian's character—he's just genuinely worried that she doesn't know the full story, yet.

"Yeah. I know."

His shoulders relax a little. "Yeah. Anyway, I get it now. People in love do stupid stuff, and sometimes they hurt people they don't mean to hurt. We know a little something about that, don't we?" He smiles bitterly.

"We had to learn things the hard way," she says.

"Both of us. And it took me a hell of a lot longer to figure my life out than it took you. I'm sorry for everything, Emma. If there was any way to go back and make things right, I would." His eyes are earnest and pleading.

"I know," she says. This is the apology she would have paid anything to hear seven or eight years ago. Now it feels a little hollow. But still, it's the final closure on her old wound, and it's good to have it.

Neal looks down at his hands. "Are you—with him, now?"

There's no need to ask which _him_ Neal is referring to. "Yeah. I am," she says. "It's still pretty new, but I think it's getting serious."

Neal swallows hard and nods a few times. "I kind of figured. We really missed our chance a long time ago, didn't we?" He shakes his head, and Emma keeps quiet. There's nothing she can say to make this easier. "And it was all on me," continues Neal. "I made the bad calls. I made the mistakes." He sighs. "Hook won't ever be my favorite person—but if you're happy…?"

"I am." Emma's voice is firm. She doesn't want to give Neal any false hope. "I'm really happy."

"Okay." Neal's smile is bittersweet, but he seems content with her answer. "Then I'm happy for you."

Emma smiles back. "Thank you. I hope we can be friends. For Henry's sake."

"You can count on it." Neal's smile grows a little warmer, and she reaches out to squeeze his hand.

"Good."

As the first hour draws to a close, Emma starts to feel restless. They knew it might take longer for Killian's troop to reach the rendezvous, but her nerves are on edge. She knows she should be resting, but she can't stop worrying about him. She paces the length of the camp over and over again.

Robin stops her. "We can give them another hour," he says, "but then we need to head back to the castle."

Emma's eyes go wide. "Wait, what?"

Robin's face is hard. "Your parents and Regina made it clear that getting you and Neal back to the castle safely needed to be our first priority. Don't worry, Emma, Killian can handle himself."

Emma bites back her protests. She understands the importance of getting Neal back to his son. But what if there are too many enemies for Killian's troop to fight them off without help? "Should we send people out to look for them?"

Robin shakes his head. "They're following the same kind of back and forth route we had to take. The chances of finding them before they find us is slim. It's best just to wait."

"And if they don't get here before the hour is up?" Emma asks, unable to hide the note of challenge in her voice.

"Then we return to castle. And I have no doubt that if I have to tie you up and sling you over my horse to get you there, your parents will support me completely."

Emma frowns, but she knows he's right.

She continues to pace, her worry growing with every passing minute. What if the witch's forces overwhelmed Killian's troop? What if he's injured? Or captured? Or worse? She can't let herself think about that, or she'll go mad.

The hour passes with no sign of Killian's troop, and Robin gives her a hard look while everyone mounts. She reluctantly follows suit, and once they are traveling she finds that Mulan, Robin and Little John have closed ranks around her, preventing her from leaving the group. She throws a few choice profanities at them, but doesn't put up a fight. She needs to save her energy for later—in case Killian needs her.

A few hours later they trot through the forest edging the castle and cross the bridge to the courtyard.

David and Henry rush out into the courtyard, and Henry throws himself into his father's arms. Emma doesn't have time to be happy about the reunion. She stalks up to David. "Have you seen any signs of Killian's troop? They didn't make it to the rendezvous point."

David's lips are tight, and he shakes his head.

The chill of fear that pierces Emma's heart is almost enough to knock her off her feet. She takes a deep breath to steady herself. It doesn't matter that she's smelly and sore and exhausted—Killian is still out there. "We need to go back out for him."

David nods. "I'll rally some fresh soldiers. We'll be ready to leave in half an hour."

Emma has time to splash her face off in the fountain, chug another energy drink, and give Henry a big hug and a short explanation, before she has to join David and his fresh troops.

Soon she's mounted on a new horse and headed back out into the forest. 

Her chest is tight with worry. 

They've only just gotten started. She can't lose him It would be too much.

The adrenaline spurred by her fear is just enough to keep her in the saddle. 

Dusk is setting in, and they've been riding for just under two hours when the men at the front of the troop call out. Another mounted troop is moving along the road toward them.

Without asking for more details, Emma kicks her horse into a gallop and surges ahead.

Her heart races and a broad grin spreads on her faces as she nears the other riders.

It's him.

She slows her horse to a stop not far from the approaching troop and jumps down from her saddle. Killian echoes her move, and she runs to him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight.

He holds her close and she can feel herself shaking in his arms. 

They embrace in silence. No words seem necessary to tell him how relieved she is to find him safe.

After a few moments she looks up to meet his eyes, and he smiles and lifts his hand to wipe some moisture from her cheek. She didn't realize she was crying.

"Were you worried about me, love?" he asks softly.

"Of course I was."

He smiles wider, and she smiles back.

David pulls his horse alongside them and leaps to the ground. Emma steps back from Killian's embrace and takes a few breaths, trying to steady herself.

"Do you have Neal?" Killian asks.

Emma nods, and David says, "He's safe at the castle."

"I'm glad to hear it," replies Killian.

"We're glad to see you safe and sound, as well," says David. "You gave us a fright."

Killian's face grows more serious. "We were hard pressed for a time. We finally gave the witch's troops the slip overnight, but it's been slow going since then. We have quite a few injuries—some of them serious." He swallows. "And we lost Smithson. We brought him back for a proper burial."

Though Killian doesn't offer up the details of what happened, Emma can read between the lines—she can see it in the tension on his face and the weary slump of his shoulders. Things were on the verge of going very wrong before they managed to escape.

She could have lost him.

David starts calling out orders to his men to help tend the injured, but Emma stays still, swaying on her feet, staring at Killian.

He smiles at her through the grime of battle coating his face.

Emma is on the verge of crying again at the thought of what she almost lost. Instead, she closes the gap between them and kisses him.

The crowd of people around them no longer matters. To hell with propriety. All that matters is that Killian came back to her.

She weaves her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. He wraps his arms around her and leans into her, kissing her back with unhurried tenderness.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss she still holds him close, nuzzling his nose with hers, breathing in his breath and feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her hand.

"There are a few people in my life that I can't stand to lose again. You're one of them," she says quietly.

"You're the same to me—the one I can't be without," he says back, pushing a lock of her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

She kisses him again, cradling his cheek with her palm. He smiles against her lips and she can feel his chest shaking with silent laughter.

Her eyebrows raise and she looks up at him.

"I take it this is your way of telling me you're ready to make our courtship public?" He smirks.

She rolls her eyes. "I got impatient."

The arm around her waist pulls her a little closer. "I like when you're impatient." He grins. A moment later his smile softens into something more boyish. "I still have the flowers. I pressed them in the pages of a notebook I carry. I think they did bring me luck. They brought me back to you."

She loves the rare moments when his hopelessly romantic streak pops up, and she feels herself grinning like a giddy schoolgirl. "Looks like we're checking a few more items off of your courtship list. Flowers, and, if I'm not mistaken, we're about to go for a long ride in the countryside."

"So we are. We've been quite efficient with this courtship, haven't we?" 

"I think I like it that way."

It's not until they are finally walking their horses into the castle courtyard, long after dark, that Killian finally asks, "Does Neal know about us, love?"

"I told him. He's being mature about it. We're good." She's exhausted in every possible way, and there's no way in hell she has time to deal with old jealousies so she hopes Killian will let it drop, and she's glad when he nods and says nothing more.

After dismounting in the torch-lit courtyard David pulls her aside. "Emma—I don't mean to be intrusive or anything, but as far as the men here are concerned you made your intentions toward Hook pretty clear today. You know that, right?"

She sighs. She's so ready to be done with this princess crap. "Yeah. I figured that's how it would be."

David nods. "Okay. He's a good man. If this is what you want, and you're happy together, then I'm happy, too."

"We are happy," she replies, managing a smile. "Um—could you break the news to Mary Margaret for me? Maybe ease her into the idea a little?"

David smiles and nods. "She'll come around. Don't worry."

Henry rushes out of the castle and Emma couldn't be happier to wrap her arms around him. "Everyone's good," she says quietly. "No more adventures for the week."

Before heading inside she sees that Killian has cornered David and is speaking to him with an excessively earnest look on his face. Based on David's look of bemusement she can only guess that Killian is doing something ridiculously anachronistic like asking her father's permission to court her. While a part of her wants to go remind him that the only permission he needs is _hers_ , the rest of her is too tired and too charmed to care.

As she walks inside with Henry something occurs to her. "Hey—sometime over the next day or two there's a chance that Killian will come to talk to you man to man, to, uh," she swallows hard, searching for the right words, "to ask your blessing." She cringes as soon as the words slip out.

Henry frowns. "My blessing? For what? Oh—" She can see the light dawning in his eyes, and looks at her with a worried expression. "You're not getting married, are you?"

"No! No no no," she waves her hands before this goes any farther. "I am so not ready to get married. But—we are—I guess—you could say that, uh…"

"He's your boyfriend?" Henry asks matter of factly.

"Yeah." Her shoulders slump a little.

Henry nodded. "About time. We all saw it coming."

" _You all_?" Emma's eyebrows raise toward her hairline. "Who is _you all_?"

Henry shrugs and heads down the corridor again. Emma hurries to follow.

"Just everybody," he says. "I hear all sorts of things. It's not like you guys were that sneaky about it, always making out in empty rooms and stuff. Blech." He sticks out his tongue in disgust.

So much for thinking they'd been keeping things quiet. Emma shakes her head and laughs helplessly all the way to dinner.

 

Tbc


	6. Something Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, liking, and commenting! I've had a blast writing this story, and I'm tickled pink that so many of you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Technically, Emma does several "Something elses" in this chapter—I hope you like all of them.

Emma sits on a thick wool blanket spread on the ground, and leans back, propping herself on one arm while her other hand absently strokes the thick dark hair of the head resting comfortably in her lap.

Killian's eyes are closed and he hums contentedly before murmuring, "I always used to think picnics were bloody pointless. Why not eat at a decent table and then get on with your life instead of wasting all that time hauling your food out to some bumpy patch of grass? However, I must admit that I'm beginning to understand the appeal."

Picnics have been rare occurrences in Emma's life, and she remembers those few occasions fondly, but she agrees with Killian's sentiment that this is the best of the lot. Fresh fruit (thanks to the regular grocery delivery from Storybrooke), some of the excellent Enchanted Forest cheese, bread baked that morning, a little deliciously cured ham, the best damn wine Emma has ever tasted (apparently being royal has a few perks she doesn't mind), and, best of all, two full hours of privacy have made this one of the best dates of any kind she's been on in years.

She's managed to pry a few stories about his time in the navy with his brother out of Killian, and the soft, wistful look he wore on his face makes her want to know even more. She doesn't think she's going to get tired of hearing his stories anytime soon.

Just a day and a half has passed since their return from the rescue mission, and the entire populace of the castle still seems to be resting up from the exhausting venture (though the messengers who pass by their picnic sight every ten or fifteen minutes—depriving them of the chance to do some of the things Emma has been craving—indicate that life will soon return to the same frantic pace it had before). 

"So what do you think about this celebration your parents are throwing this evening?" Killian asks, opening his eyes to look up at her.

Emma shrugs. On the one hand, having Neal back and striking a major blow against the witch is something worthy of celebration. On the other hand, it seems like a waste of time and resources to be putting on what amounts to an impromptu royal ball. "I don't know. I can't help but think it's a little extravagant."

"Still," he tilts his head a little, "it could be fun."

Her eyes narrow. "You're looking forward to it, aren't you?"

He waves his hands noncommittally. "I simply think an occasion to share good food, good drink, and good music with our friends is very welcome. Besides," he gets a twinkle in his eye, "I do believe that a ball is one of the only things we haven't covered from my courtship list, and this might be closest we'll get to one anytime soon."

"Yeah—I think all that's left are balls and poetry," she replies, smiling. She can tell he's really into the idea of a ball, but he's trying play it cool. "Are you just hoping to see me in a ball gown?"

He shrugs and grins. "I plead guilty. Come—I promise it will be fun, and your parents will be sorely disappointed if you don't attend. Let's make a date of it."

Emma sighs. Now she'll have to spend all afternoon scrambling to find a dress while Killian will probably just change into a fresh shirt and his red vest and call it good. But he's right—it might be fun. "Okay. Let's do it."

~ ~ ~

Emma stares at herself in the mirror and takes a deep breath. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The dress is a vivid red chiffon halter top with a plunging neckline that ends just above the fitted empire waist and flouncy knee length skirt. Not exactly a ball gown, but it's the best she can do on short noticed. Borrowed from Ruby, the dress has been hastily (magically) altered by Tink to fit as if it were made for her, and she can't help but smile imagining what Killian's reaction to it will be.

And, (thanks to a little tip from Regina regarding how to use magic to heat up her curling iron since the diesel generators imported from Storybrooke are reserved for more important uses than hair-styling) for the first time in months she's taken the time to curl her hair and put on some lipstick. Overall she's pleased with the results. Once in a while it really feels good to look good.

Just as she smoothes her hair one final time, a knock sounds on her door.

She walks smoothly to the door, feeling extra confident in her tall heels, and pulls it open with a seductive smile on her face.

Killian looks every bit as dumbstruck as she's hoped, but she finds herself equally at a loss for words.

He's actually changed his clothes.

Her mouth hangs open and she blinks a few times. 

"Wow," she says at the exact moment that he says, "Swan, you—"

They both pause and chuckle, and Killian waves his hand at her. "Ladies first, love."

Emma smiles and shakes her head. She gestures at his ensemble. "This is pretty amazing. I'm stunned."

"Ah, you like it?" His eyebrows shoot up as he poses and preens.

She nods slowly. "Yeah. I do."

He's replaced his hook with the gloved artificial hand, and traded the leather for something closer to one of the old-timey naval uniforms she remembers from a few movies. Sticking with his favorite colors, the fitted trousers are black, paired with a black officer's coat with short tails, trimmed in a red band around the buttons and collar. He wears his rich red brocade vest beneath, and, most shocking of all, he's traded his customary black shirt for one in crisp white. Not only that, but the shirt is buttoned all the way up, and he wears some kind of old-fashioned black necktie that looks more like a scarf around his collar. 

It's like some kind of strange alternate reality version of Killian where he's still the naval officer he was as a young man. Though she has no idea why, because "men in uniform" isn't usually her thing, right now it's really doing it for her. "I like it a lot."

A cocky smirk spreads across his face. "I'll have to wear it more often."

Emma rolls her eyes. "When did you even find time to pull this look together? Did you have Tink conjure it up for you, or something?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all. I ordered it from one of the tailors a few weeks ago when David started pestering me about taking that damned naval commission. I figured that it might soften the blow of my refusal if I could at least look the part once in a while."

He never ceases to amaze her. "You really did that for him?"

Killian shrugs. "It was the least I could do."

She's always known that he's way more of a sentimental softy than he lets on. "Well, tonight is the perfect occasion to debut this new look of yours. Jaws are going to be dropping all over that ballroom when they get a look at you."

"Oh, I don't think they'll be dropping their jaws over me, darling. Not with you on my arm." He steps a little closer, open admiration in his eyes as he looks her up and down. "You are truly stunning. Never in all my days have I seen the like."

Her grin is giddy and excited, and she imagines this must be what girls feel like going to the prom (she never made it to hers). ''Thank you."

"You are most welcome. Shall we?" He offers her his arm and she takes it gladly.

When they reach the ballroom it seems that Killian was right—or she was. Whichever the case (likely both), almost every head in the room turns to stare at them as they walk in. It doesn't matter that the vast already-gorgeous room has been decorated with ribbons and flowers and candles everywhere you turn or that the room is already teeming with lavishly dressed guests, they all seem to want a look at the princess and her beau. 

Emma's heels have brought her height up to match Killian's, but he doesn't seem to mind as he parades her around on his arm with a smug grin on his face. Eventually they draw near to her parents.

David looks ready to laugh and Mary Margaret looks too stunned to speak.

"You look beautiful," says David, stepping forward to kiss her on the cheek. "And you, my friend," he steps back to shake his head at Killian's garb, "all you're missing is the bicorne hat."

"The hats were one of the primary reasons I chucked the navy for piracy, mate. Couldn't stand the things." Killian grins and David chuckles.

Mary Margaret finally steps forward with a welcoming smile on her face. "You both look very nice. If you don't mind, Killian, I'd like to steal a moment with my daughter?"

Killian nods and steps aside, though Emma almost wishes he wouldn't. She hasn't talked with her mother one-on-one since coming back from the rescue mission, mostly because she doesn't want Mary Margaret to try talking her out of her relationship with Killian. But she can't avoid it forever.

They walk a few feet away from the men and pause. Mary Margaret turns to face her with an earnest expression in her eyes. "I owe you an apology, Emma."

"You do?" Emma's eyebrows shoot up.

"I do." Mary Margaret sighs. "I know I haven't been very receptive to the idea of you being with Hook. And I know that's put some distance between us, and I don't like it. The truth is, I wanted your story to be as simple and uncomplicated as mine was. You'd find the father of your child, and you'd be a family again. I thought that's what you wanted, so I convinced myself that Hook was using you—or that you were using him." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry for thinking so poorly of the both of you, and for trying to fit you into a mold that just wasn't meant for you. What I really want more than anything else is for you to be happy. Are you happy, Emma?" She takes Emma's hands and holds them tight.

Emma's throat is tight with emotion. People keep asking her if she's happy, and every time they ask it she knows deep down that what they're really asking is, _"do you love him?"_ She turns her head to take in the sight of Killian smiling and laughing with David, and she feels a stirring in her soul, from the bottom of her feet all through her body to the top of her head.

"Yeah," she says. "I am."

"Then nothing in world could make me happier for you," replies Mary Margaret, pulling her into a warm embrace.

As the night progresses Emma tries to enjoy the good food and drink and the company of so many friends. But an unsettled yearning keeps her from fully losing herself in the moment. Every time Killian meets her eyes she feels it—filling her up and trying to push its way out.

She hasn't felt this way in a very long time. More than twelve years.

In a world as fragile as theirs, she knows that things can go terribly wrong at any time. If she feels something, she needs to say it. Sooner rather than later—before she loses the chance.

After a conversation over some wine with Tink and Ruby, Killian pulls Emma out onto the dance floor without warning.

"Whoa—I don't really dance," she says, trying to tug him back toward the side of the room.

"Nonsense. We're at a ball. We're dancing—whether you're any good at it or not. Just follow my lead." He winks at her and she gives in with a sigh as he pulls her a little closer and rests his false hand on her back.

She stares down at his feet as he moves them through the opening steps of the dance, doing her best to mirror his actions.

"Tut tut, darling. Eyes on me—no foot-staring allowed at a proper ball."

She glares at him. "I told you—I don't know how to dance."

"Come now, you're doing—ouch!" His smile vanishes as she stomps on one of his feet and they halt in the middle of the floor. 

Emma tilts her head with a half-smile on her face. "So how am I doing, again?"

Killian lets out a short laugh. "Well, perhaps a little foot-watching might not be such a bad thing after all."

Emma only steps on him two more times before the dance ends, and he pulls her back to the sidelines with a laugh. "You weren't joking about not knowing how to dance. You're bloody dreadful, love. What kind of princess are you?"

She rolls her eyes. "The kind that doesn't dance. You're not going to make me do that again, are you?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think my toes could take it."

She matches his grin and hangs onto his hand, her feelings swelling again until they feel like they're going to burst. "Hey—" she says softly, so only his ears can hear her over the music and chatter, "—I love you."

She holds her breath and time seems to stand still as his already smiling eyes take on an almost transcendent glow.

He takes a small step closer until their noses are almost brushing.

"Emma Swan, my heart has been yours very nearly since the day we met, and it always will be."

If she could grin any wider she suspects it would break through the edges of her face. His words must be an exaggeration, but the way he says them makes her want to haul him back up to her room right this instant. "You fell in love with me when I tied you to a tree and threatened to leave you for the ogres?"

He grins back and quirks an eyebrow. "Perhaps just a bit after that."

They both laugh softly, and Emma's heart is racing. She feels giddy and lightheaded from more than the wine. 

She's not sure how long they stand there like that, smiling and staring into each other's eyes, before an excited voice interrupts them.

"Mom!" Henry calls as he jogs up excitedly in the dress shirt and tie that Regina managed to find for him. He skids to a halt in front of them. "Can I have a dance?" he asks, puffing up his chest. "If you don't mind, Captain?"

"Not at all, my boy," Killian says stepping back with a bow. "Though your mum may not be inclined to dance. I have it on good authority that she's wretched at it."

Emma glares at him one more time, though she can't help smiling immediately after, and then turns to Henry. "It would be an honor to dance with you."

"Oh, so you'll dance with him some more, but not with me?" Killian teases as she takes Henry's hand.

"With him _I_ get to lead," she calls, pulling her son out to the dance floor.

She takes a few spins around the dance floor with Henry, and then David pulls her into a father-daughter dance, though his toes don't fare any better than Killian's. Even though she enjoys herself, the entire time her eyes keep darting around the room, searching for him. She catches glimpses of him with Granny and dwarves, then later with Neal and Robin, and as often as not he's watching her, too. While David leads her around the dance floor she loses track of Killian until, unexpectedly, she catches sight of him waltzing gracefully with Mary Margaret. Her heart swells at the sight.

When they take leave of their respective partners at the end of the dance, she seeks him out. He takes her hand with a happy smile. "Don't fear, love. After seeing the way you butchered that waltz with David I'll not ask for another dance. At least not until you've had some proper lessons."

"Thank god. I love the way these shoes look, but dancing in them is making my feet ache." She squeezes his hand. "It looks like you and Mary Margaret had a nice dance. I think she's finally warming up to the idea of us together."

"That she is," he says with a soft smile. "And it's about bloody time, after all I did for the lot of them over this past year."

Emma shrugs. "She's just stubborn. I know—I get it from her."

He grins. "I know better than to agree with that one, darling."

Having him so close again is turning her giddy happiness into something a little hotter. She feels silly and bold and ready for anything and everything he can give her. "Now that we've tackled a ball, the only thing left on your Enchanted Forest courtship list is poetry. So how about we cross that one off, too, and then we can try out a _modern_ courtship for a change." She emphasizes the word "modern" and hopes he understands that it means activities involving fewer clothes.

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh—you have a few verses ready for me, do you?"

She takes a deep breath. It's ridiculous, but it's all she's got. "Roses are red, violets are blue, will you come back to my room after the dance so I can do lots of improper things to you?"

Killian laughs loudly, and she joins him, until he says, "I'm sorry, Emma, but that simply doesn't count as poetry."

She tries to force a scowl through her smile. "Come on—it rhymed!"

"Simply managing a rhyme isn't enough," he chides teasingly. "True love poetry has to come from your soul—it has to reflect your deepest longings and your most sincere emotions."

"It _did_ reflect one of my deep longings." She edges a little closer to him.

His answering grin is downright sinful. "While I do appreciate the sentiment, the style was abominable."

Emma frowns. "Yeah? I'd like to see you do better."

His eyes flash, and she can tell from his wicked smile that he's prepared to show her up in a serious way.

He leans close to her ear, and speaks in a low, earnest tone.

_" I'll not tell you that you rescued me_  
 _From the darkest depths of villainy;_  
 _Nor that you alone pierced my sheltered heart_  
 _To teach a lost soul that he could play a part_  
 _In something good and worthy;_  
 _Though you did._

_"And I'll not liken your hair to brightest rays of morning sun_  
 _Illuminating my world as if my frozen life had just begun_  
 _Anew; nor say your sea-green eyes tell_  
 _A thousand stories with every well_  
 _Placed glance; tales of pain and valor and devotion to your son;_  
 _Though they do._

_"I'll not tell you how your courage has inspired_  
 _Me, like a fierce tiger facing every danger that transpired_  
 _With no hesitation; nor that my strength to cope_  
 _With the awful separation betwixt us came from your ceaseless faith and hope,_  
 _Like a sailor trusting a distant star to guide him safe to a home long desired;_  
 _Though it did._

_"I'll not tell you how the subtle bow of your neck into your chest_  
 _Sets my heart racing, nor that I can still feel your soft lips pressed_  
 _Against mine whenever I pause to close my eyes;_  
 _Nor how my dreams are populated by the slope of your thighs,_  
 _The roundness of your hips, and the soft enticing curve of your breasts;_  
 _Though they are._

_"No, such clichés are far less than what you truly deserve._  
 _Yet my mind fails me in my quest to find any words to better serve_  
 _My purpose. So I say plainly this:_  
 _You are my love, my life, my bliss._  
 _Let this poem that simple sentiment preserve;_  
 _And so it does."_

Emma stands frozen. She can hardly breath. Until he pulls back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Now that's love poetry, my dear."

She swats him on the arm. "You didn't write that for me! You got it out of one of your books."

He places his hand over his heart. "You wound me."

She knits her brows. "Seriously? You really wrote that?"

He shrugs. "A man has a lot of time to think when he's at sea. This seemed a good use of my time."

Her jaw hangs slack as she struggles for words. "You actually wrote that. For me?"

"Does that surprise you?" His look is deadly serious. "Because it shouldn't. Men should've been writing sonnets and ballads and bloody operas in your honor ever since you came of age. What surprises _me_ , is that they _didn't_."

"Oh my god I want you so bad," she says in a low rush, feeling a desire so deep and scorching that she can't stand to wait another minute. "We're leaving. Now."

She grabs his hand and pulls him quickly and steadily toward the door. He hustles to keep up, and murmurs, "This isn't exactly subtle, love."

"I don't even care anymore," she says, meaning every word. She's going to take her pirate back to her room and kiss him until neither of them can breathe, and then she's going to spend the rest of the night exploring all the news ways she can enjoy him. To hell with respectability and propriety. 

Killian merely raises his eyebrows and smiles. "As you wish."

 

The End


End file.
